The Path of Damnation
by T.A. Virs
Summary: This is a story about my formerly introduced character, Kravim.  This is his beginnings and I chose to upload a prelude, and will be continuing the story soon.  Please enjoy the beginning of the tale of the villain Kravim.


Lightning struck from the bleak overcast sky. The blinding flash of light forked through the night sky, followed swiftly by the crack of thunder. This was the sort of night that the people of Torvin had not seen in decades.

The city of Torvin lay nestled in the Ikron valley, on the westward side of a giant mountain chain, known as the Ragged Divide. Rain was seen here all the time and storms frequently visited the well to do city. Yet this storm seemed to have been conjured out of a nightmare, and had lasted for longer than any of the townsfolk had hoped.

Nights such as this always signified something was to occur, something that was far from good. This night could not have been truer for Dormon.

Since the day had started, Dormon Ferro had been having the worst of luck. The storm was light in the morning hours, but had been going on since the night before and the storm had chosen to wash into his home, scaring his son and upsetting his wife. His wife, Elysia, had begged him to fix the various holes and cracks in the walls of their home, and now he understood her foresight. His son, Vorik, had never seen so much water before, being only seven and never have left the city, let alone in his own home, where he felt safe.

Dormon couldn't believe his luck after that either. The tax collector came by early that day, for whatever reason, and Dormon couldn't pay up, so he had to work some extra hours at the Shipping Guild.

Dormon got out of the guild late that night, and he staggered his way home, in the freezing rain. Typically, the rains were warm this time of year, but something was just ominous and out of place about this particular storm. It felt as though the very rain was zapping all the strength he had.

Dormon wiped the dripping rain from his ragged and unshaven features. He was a workingman, and didn't see much of his home, except at night, and he couldn't even stay awake for love making most of the time.

He approached his small, yet comfortable home, shining in the moonlight from all the wetness spilled upon it, like a bucket of water poured on a rock. Something was odd about his house as well, and some terrible feeling gripped his heart as he looked at his home.

To the side of his home, a cloaked figure was attempting to creep through the window of Dormon's home. Dormon's brows furrowed in rage at this sight, yet he couldn't deny his heart jumped in fear for his family and for what he was about to do.

Dormon reached into his boot, and drew forth his boot dagger. He kept the dagger on him at all times for protection purposes. He set forth toward his home with sureness in his stride. Once he reached the door, he began to yell. He bellowed as loud as he could and then kicked his own door down.

There, in the shadows of his home, was a man, cloaked in black, raising a dagger over the body of his wife, who had woken up at the sound of Dormon's bellowing and the crash of their door on the ground. She gasped in fear as the man turned to face her and raised the dagger once again.

The dagger plunged but never met it's mark. Dormon tackled the cloaked man from the side, losing his dagger in the process.

The two combatants stood facing each other, and Dormon was weaponless. He wouldn't allow this man to take his family, and he only had to hold out as long as it took for someone to show up, wondering what all the noise was about.

The dagger swung in a wide arc toward Dormon's throat, and Dormon instinctively fell back. As Dormon attempted to correct himself, he realized that he had dodged the blow a little to hard, and fell onto the floor. The dagger came down on him again, in a swift, downward stab, and Dormon brought the only thing he could up to defend his face from the vicious stab: his arm.

The dagger plunged deep into Dormon's flesh, and the tip even poked through the other side of his arm. Dormon roared in pain and fury, and tears welled up into his eyes. He had never felt anything more painful than this, and blood began to spill out of his arm like a fountain.

Suddenly from behind, the killer was struck hard with a pot, yet instead of deterring his murderous rage, it only fed it. The killer tore his dagger fiercely from Dormon's arm and swung his arm around in an arc toward Elysia's throat.

Elysia never saw it coming. She had only time to gasp before blood spilled like a waterfall from her throat. She fell to the ground, eyes gaping open as her body went limp like a rag doll.

Dormon couldn't believe what he had just seen. The love of his life murdered before his own eyes, and worse still, the eyes of his son. He looked to Vorik, who was crying even harder than he had been when this whole situation started, and the boy tried to run to his mother.

"No!" yelled Dormon at his son, who heard nothing. The killer on the other hand, took advantage and stood in front of the boy's mother, waiting for the seven-year-old child to come within dagger range.

Why had no one come yet? Dormon couldn't believe this day! No one came to his family's aid as this gruesome scene played out. Dormon looked around, as swiftly as he could, and his eyes landed on his dagger. His hand fell upon it and Dormon jumped to his feet in a flash. He bellowed once more and ran toward the killer.

The killer saw it coming, and he knew his bait tactic had worked. In a swift reversal of his dagger, the cloaked murderer whipped his blade around and punched it upward into the jaw of Dormon Ferro, who fell in a sad heap onto the ground.

Vorik froze. He had never witnessed this sort of thing before, never dreamed or had nightmares of this sort of thing occurring. Only seven years old, and now with no parents…no family left. Vorik looked up, not sure whether to cry or scream, into the eyes of the murderer who had just taken his parents from him. Those eyes seemed dull, and emotionless, as if this was all routine, and boring.

Yet something spoke in Vorik's mind, a small voice that spoke to him as he backed up away from the approaching killer. Vorik began to sob, and he was going to fall over in tears.

_Stop your sobbing!_

The voice echoed strong through his mind, and his seven-year-old mental capacity couldn't understand where the voice was coming from.

_You mustn't die. You are too important to die. This fool has no idea what he has meddled in…_

Again the voice was powerful, and nearly made Vorik fall over with its force.

_Repeat after me child…word for word, and you shall be saved from this foolish man._

The awkward words that proceeded to echo through his mind were alien and confusing, yet they seemed to flow easily from Vorik's small lips. The killer stopped and turned his head to the side in his own fit of confusion. Once the killer realized that the child was casting a spell, he gave forth and audible gasp.

It was the killer's turn to back up. Slowly he backed away from the chanting child, whose eyes now glowed white. Fear was evident across the cloaked man's face, which was illuminated by the power that gathered around the wizard-child.

Vorik finished the chant, just as the voice had commanded him to do, and he could feel something powerful, something weird and beyond his own understanding at his fingertips.  
_Hold your hand forward, child. Let the energy go upon this bad man._

Vorik shook his head, he couldn't.

The man saw the hesitation, and began to approach swiftly, urged on by the fact that this child could cast magic, and the voices of the guard were fast approaching.

_Now! You must obey me in order to live!  
_Vorik nodded and held his hands forward, and a final utterance escaped his tiny mouth, as if by instinct.

The energy surged and rolled in his hands, then manifested itself in reality, and shot forward toward the fast moving man. The energy struck him hard, and it melted his cloak and leathers into his skin and it distorted the man's features. The man cried out in more pain than he had ever known was possible for a human to experience. The agonizing energy tore and maimed his built form and melted his body.

The guards burst through the already open doorway, expecting wizards. All that remained alive in the room was an innocent looking child, no more than seven years old, and the bodies of two men, and a woman.

Confusion filled the room, and the guards lowered their swords as the small child began to cry.


End file.
